Sophia liked Mrs Kerr, a soft-faced woman younger by some ten years than her husband. Mr Kerr, a man of mild temperament and pleasant manners, had a somber air about him that had not yet fully claimed his wife, so she was more inclined to smile. Not like her husband’s mother, Mrs Kerr the elder, who although she had displayed at times a cutting wit, still turned a disapproving face toward the world in general.
The older woman said, not looking up, ‘I should imagine Mistress Paterson, like any decent woman, would be relishing the quiet after suffering the company of such a house as Slains.’
Her son said, ‘Mother.’
‘Do not “Mother” me, my lad. You know full well what my opinion is of all this foolish talk of bringing back the king, and what I think of those who entertain the notion, and that does include yourself,’ she told him, with a sidelong glance that put him in his place. ‘You mark my words, he may now promise us that he’ll not interfere in our religion, but the instant he sets foot on Scottish soil you’ll hear him pipe a different tune. He is a papist, and you cannot trust a papist.’
Mr Kerr remarked that he would sooner trust a papist than an Englishman.
‘On your head be it, then,’ his mother said, and turning in her seat she asked Sophia, ‘What is your opinion, Mistress Paterson?’
But Sophia had been living here three months, and knew enough to step around the trap. ‘I am afraid I have not met that many papists. And no Englishmen at all.’
The elder Mrs Kerr could not contain a quirking of her mouth that spoilt her dour expression for an instant. ‘Aye, well then you have been fortunate.’ Her study of Sophia held new interest. ‘Tell me, how is it you came to be at Slains? The Duchess of Gordon has told us your family did come from this place, and that you had been brought up not far from Kirkcudbright. What took you so far from your home?’
‘I am kin to the Countess of Erroll.’ She said it with pride, and for all of her weariness sat a bit straighter. ‘I went there at her invitation.’
‘I see. And what made you come back?’
There it was, that sharp twist at her heart that was now so familiar she’d learned to breathe through it. She spoke the lie lightly, ‘I thought I had stayed long enough in the north.’
Mr Kerr nodded. ‘I seem to remember the Duchess of Gordon did say you were keen to come back to the place of your birth.’
Young Mrs Kerr was thinking. ‘Is the duchess not a papist?’
‘The Duchess of Gordon,’ her mother-in-law said firmly, ‘is a woman quite above the common mark, who at her heart I am convinced is Presbyterian.’
Sophia had heard much about the duchess since she’d come here. Colonel Hooke, as she recalled, had spoken much about his correspondence with the duchess, who despite her Catholic faith had gained the trust and high regard of the great chieftains of the Western Shires, those fervent Presbyterians who had been just as outraged by the Union as the Jacobites, and who had sought to join their forces in a fight to guard the Scottish crown against the English. From her Edinburgh home she served as a go-between, fully aware she was narrowly watched by the agents of Queen Anne and by the less visible spies of the Duke of Hamilton.
The duke, Sophia had learned, was distrusted as much by the Presbyterians as by the Jacobites, since it was he who had stopped them from rising in protest of the Union when it might have done some good. She’d also been told he had sent a private envoy once to tell the western chieftains they would better serve themselves by giving him the crown in place of James, since he alone could guard their interests. But they would not undertake such treason, and had earned the duke’s fierce enmity.
The rumor was he regularly turned his eye toward the west, and that his spies yet walked among the people of this shire, but he would dare not make a move here, with the people so against him. Sophia knew that, in Kirkcudbright, she was safe. And anyway, with Moray dead, she’d be of little value to the duke.
Mr Kerr, at the head of the table, was slicing the meat for the next course when young Mrs Kerr changed the subject.
‘Did you see the widow McClelland in kirk? She has put off her mourning.’
Her husband shrugged. ‘Aye, well ’tis almost a year now.’
His wife replied, ‘I should not doubt that it has more to do with the arrival of her husband’s brother. He was not in kirk this morning.’
Mr Kerr remarked he would not know the man to see him. ‘I am told he is not well.’
Sophia knew that Mr Kerr was trying not to let the conversation dwindle into gossip, but it was no use. His wife had that peculiar light of interest in her eyes that people got when they were speaking of the actions of another.